Chapter 1
The battle was over. Barthog knew the exact moment they had lost. The walls of the Dungeon, across which red magic had streaked for so long, burst into a nova of light. The noise deafened every creature, friend or foe. And just as abruptly the walls became dead. The Heart of the Dungeon had been destroyed, scattering its magical link with every part of Lord Melor's domain.
'We're in skepittle now!' wailed Haglock.
A great roar of victory issued from the tunnel ahead. Barthog looked at his companion. This was Haglock's first experience of campaigning. If Barthog had much thought to spare, he would have wondered how he had survived this long. He had been sent with a troop of five goblins to defend the Portal tunnel. Two imperial knights had come to take the Portal. They were already injured, and the two surviving goblins were lucky. Barthog figured they were lucky in more ways than one.
'Don't know about you, mate,' said Barthog, 'but I'm getting the kokthrot out of here.'
Barthog ran. He had to get to the other end of the tunnel, away from the Dungeon. He could make out the grey mists coming from the Portal. He could feel Haglock following. From the distance came cries as the last of his comrades fell. The dwarfs would be the first to raid the treasury. Barthog swore. Why did the bastards have to attack the day before payday?
There was a short yelp behind him. Barthog turned only for a flicker, long enough to see Haglock lying on his face with the shaft of an elven arrow sticking out of the back of his head. Cursing loudly, barthog serpentined. Another arrow hurtled past his face by half an inch. Elven arrows only ever missed when something wasn't stationary or moving in a straight line. Barthog held on to that thought as he gazed at the Portal entrance. He could see the mist issuing from the opening. Beyond it would be the great square pit, with four great crystal pillars looming out of its bottom at each corner. At the centre of the pit was the round, bottomless well – the Rabbit Hole. Barthog hoped the elves wouldn't follow. As he reached the entrance, an arrow scraped past his left ear, taking a small chuck with it. When he was just a foot from the edge of the pit, his right upper arm exploded with agony. The impact of the arrow knocked Barthog howling into the pit. Mists surrounded him now at all sides. Barthog crawled against the mist towards the centre of the pit from which the mist billowed in great, grey clouds. He was at the edge of the Rabbit Hole. Then he fell.
He was falling in total blackness. He could hear the rush of mist against his ears. It was cold here, so much so that even his long, thick skinned goblin fingers were numb within minutes. He started hearing other sounds around him. They were faint at first, and then grew louder into howls, shrieks, roars, groans and laughter. Barthog was accustomed to this from his previous Portal journeys. He kept himself still. The eternal tunnel of the Rabbit Hole scraped the Nether Plains. It was important to not broadcast your presence. It wasn't unknown for people to be snatched away from the tunnel by an inquisitive demon.
After what felt like an eternity, Barthog was flung into the light. He fell stomach-first on the floor of the Portal pit far from the Dungeon had had deserted. He rolled on his left, groaning. He saw the elven arrow shaft protruding from his upper arm. The greenish goblins skin was black with blood.
'Vurtawanga to all the elven kind.' He muttered. 'And may their women get bittapoonit.'
This made him feel a little better. He sat up to his knees. He was in the Portal of the Frubettle Market. This pit was much larger than the Dungeon's, and circular. Behind Barthog, a man in dirty robes hurtled out of the Rabbit Hole and crashed right next to him. Unconcerned, the man dusted himself briefly and ran to the wall of the pit. Barthog followed him. When he tried to climb, his right shoulder shrieked again from his injury. Another goblin entered the portal through the Rabbit Hole. Not one from the Dungeon Barthog had fled. Barthog didn't bother asking the man for help. He'd only be ignored. But he appealed to his fellow goblin.
'A hand, brother?' he said, as the other goblin began to climb. The goblin stared at him for a second, and then he threw back his head and cackled.
'Kokrot to you!' Bellowed Barthog.
Fuming, he made the climb one handed. After several falls and many curses towards elves, the other goblin and his mother, Barthog reached the Portal chamber. There were several doors around the circular wall. Since he couldn't read, he took a door labelled, "No Exyte". It didn't make a difference. All doors opened to the centre of the Frubettle Market.
The wave of the crowd tried to sweep him away almost instantly. The circular Portal chamber was an artificial construction in the vast cavern of the Frubettle Market. Torches flickered above the crowd on long, metal poles. There weren't many sources of light. Half the creatures that frequented here were nightseers. The other half were men who stumbled about while trying not to look foolish. The Frubettle Market was one of the few of its kind in the world. It was an oasis to those who dwelt under the surface of the world, and a refuge to those who had been cast out from above. Barthog pushed through the crowd and stood next to a fish stall. His bulging eyes scanned the cavern, looking for the right direction. He had been here six times before. Yet his sense of direction got frequently muddled here.
'Care for a slithytube, Master Greenskin?'
Barthog turned to meet the stall keeper. Perched on the large, chopping block table was an evil looking gnome. He held up an eel-like creature that was as large as himself. It was among the assortment of pale, slimy, razor-toothed things that he had hanging from the roof; all caught fresh from underground streams and lakes that never saw the light of the sun.
'Nah', said Barthog, who often got gas from slithytubes. 'But I went and forget my way around here. You wouldn't know the direction Hooknella keeps her shop, would you, Master Greyskin?'
'You'll need her.' guffawed the gnome, eyeing the arrow sticking out of Barthog's arm.
'They should have made you a Healer.' said Barthog. 'Where is she?'
'I sell fish, wartface, I'm not a kokthrotting tour guide.' The gnome sneered. He cocked his long, left ear towards a direction. 'Go that way. Look left and you'll see her soon enough.'
'Luck on your trade.' Said Barthog.
'Come back if you want a brotkilly,' said the gnome, pointing at the squid-like creature with a bulging eyeball at its centre. 'Caught fresh three hours ago from Pilikin's Stream up North.'
Hooknella's shop was at the North-western wall of the cave. It was a little cave of its own. One of hundreds cut all along the edge Frubettle's larger cave. The sign above the doors of her shop showed a goblin's head with an owl perched on top.
'Look like someone I know, you do.' Said Hooknella the moment Barthog entered. She pointed a long finger at slowly oozing wound at his shoulder. 'And that's an improvement.'
Barthog had not seen Hooknella for five years. They had grown up in the same village at the Lurkwood Forest. She had become the apprectice of the village Gobreich. She had departed once she realized she was too good of a gobrech to waste her talents on her fellow villagers. Barthog had visited her shop only once since her departure. She looked the same as ever, with the fetching beauty wart at the end of her nose, the alluring straw-hair that went down to the her shoulders, and the half-lidded sly eyes.
'Looks elf-made, too.' Said Hooknella, still looking at the arrow.
Barthog's head spun suddently. He was on his knees before he could speak. The arrow, he realized, was starting to do more than hurt.
'Don't go bleedin' and dyin' on my floor.' Snapped Hooknella. "I don't hire cleaners.
'Cut the bungslug, Hooknella." Moaned Barthog. 'Get it out of me! I'm not askin' fer favours. Do it and there's coins in it for you.'
'Then how can I refuse?' Said Hooknella wryly. She scrutinized him with a serious look. 'Now it's just the blood going out of you. What happens when the poison starts its work?'
Poison, Barthog remembered suddently. Elf arrows were poisoned. They worked slowly, but did their job effectively. And it was made for the likes of goblins.
'Get it out of me!' He pleaded.
The Gobreich tugged at her owl feather cloak and crossed her arms. "Do I look like I've got elf-poison antidotes?"
Barthog fell on his face. Hope was going out of him, and the horror of death was creeping slowly into his heart.
'You're pathetic.' Hooknella said scornfully. 'Should've stayed in Lurkwood, eating squirrels and maggots. Not made for the sword, you are.'
'You got to help me!' Barthog moaned.
Hooknella sighed.
'Go left from my shop. About ten caves away you'll find Madam Hawthorn's shop. Can't miss it, it's a big cave. Likes to show off, that kokthrottin' witch. But I'll bet my warts she's got the antidote.'
Barthog stumbled away and he did exactly as he was instructed. Hooknella busied herself with her jars. Business was slow today, but it gave her time to make some preparations. Five minutes after Barthog had gone; she thought she heard a distant blast. She briefly looked up to register it. Barthog stumbled back into her cave a while after, fuming and looking harassed.
'You know what that dungpoonit did?' He snarled at her. 'She threw a kokthrottin' vial at me! Didn't even let me finish what I was sayin'! It nearly blew my kokthrottin' face off!'
'Her loss.' Said the Gobreich. 'Lost a customer and a vial.'
Hooknella threw back her head and shrieked with laughter, while Barthog ranted and swore at her direction.
'Oh, shut your trap.' She said finally. 'I'll do what I can, only 'cos you're kokrotting useless. After that, you know what to do.'
'What?' Barthog said hopefully.
Hooknella gave him another contemptuous look.
'Guess you're deaf as well as daft.' She rapped. 'I hear word about a Keeper in the North. He's going after Boregind. And he's recruiting.'